


Good Girl

by thequeergiraffe



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Dom/sub, F/F, Slightly dubcon, i can't believe i came out of retirement to write this nonsense, missy's pov, no actual sex??? sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5254289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeergiraffe/pseuds/thequeergiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shall we play fetch?” Missy asked, her words slow to leave her lips, stretching luxuriously into the space between them. </p><p>The girl shifted, her face flushing. Oh, she was lovely. The Doctor always did like them pretty, and young. “Yes, Mistress.”</p><p>---</p><p>Missy does a different sort of adventuring with her companion...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh I haven't even seen any of the new season but I'm so about this ship and I'm so gay and the chick who plays Missy gives me so many ~feelings~ so here have this thing, I seriously never expected to write fanfic again but oh well. I wrote this whole thing in like 20 mins after desperately hunting for kinky fanart smh

She had never thought of humans as equals, certainly not. The Doctor’s obsession with humanity had always struck her a bit silly (and, if she was honest, stirred something deep and jealous and fearful in the pit of her stomach). They were fun little pets though, weren't they? So eager, so fragile. Flesh and bone and chemical lust. Oh, they could be a treat.

This one was something special. So terribly pretty, this one, watching Missy expectantly with her big doe eyes. Like a dog kneeling beside the dinner table, begging for scraps. Missy couldn't help but laugh.

She liked her new laugh, high and sparkling, so much merrier than her old one. This body was _good_. She felt good in it. Strong. She’d left her neediness and loneliness and anger in her old body, the one she’d thrown away purposefully, and now she was light as a feather. How silly all her pain seemed to her now. How trivial.

The girl squirmed. Her hands were tucked between her thighs, folded into her short little skirt. Her feet, in their silky stockings, were tucked prettily under her bottom. Her teeth worried at her lower lip.

“Shall we play fetch?” Missy asked, her words slow to leave her lips, stretching luxuriously into the space between them.

The girl shifted, her face flushing. Oh, she was lovely. The Doctor always did like them pretty, and young. “Yes, Mistress.”

Missy smiled. It had taken awhile to teach her that trick. Poor girl, she didn't have a clue what she wanted. She thought she wanted to be clever and in charge, a little tottering version of the Doctor. Well, Missy had fixed that, hadn't she? Now the girl knew. She wanted to be hurt. And as it happened, Missy was quite good at doing the hurting.

“Hmm,” Missy sighed, carefully plucking her gloves from her fingers and tossing them aside. “I think...yes. The whip. What do you think, pet?”

The color in the girl’s cheeks deepened to scarlet. “I...yes, Mistress.”

Missy raised an eyebrow at that momentary hesitation, then let it go. There was a time when she had treated even minor infractions quite severely, but that had been a lifetime ago. Now she knew when to pick her battles.

Delicately, she raised her foot and set the toe of her boot under Clara’s chin, forcing her to lift her head and meet Missy’s eyes. She tipped her head, smiled graciously. “The whip, Clara. Fetch it. Now.”

The girl swallowed hard, wincing a little as Missy dug her boot in just a little harder. She let out a shaky breath when Missy pulled her foot away, then quickly stood and left the room, her hands knotted in front of her, fear and shame and pleasure written all over her body. Humans. Strange little things. But oh, how fun.

In record time the girl was back, licking worriedly at her lips, the whip held loosely in her hands, the way someone might hold something poisonous. She stopped in front of Missy, held her gaze for one long moment (impudent little beast), then thrust the whip into Missy’s waiting palms, her chin lifted just enough to convey a hint of defiance. I'm not afraid, her raised chin suggested, but her eyes told a very different story. Missy drank in her fear for a moment, feeling the warmth of the leather straps in her hand, the weight of it, almost hearing the delightful snap-and-crack that would soon fill the air. Then she smiled, a nasty smile, the sort of smile she knew the Doctor dreaded seeing. Her favorite smile. “On all fours, dog,” she said lightly, passing the whip from one hand to the other.

How quickly the girl obeyed! How eagerly!

Missy allowed herself another sweet tinkling laugh. Yes, she was pleased with her new pet. She bent a little, patting the girl on the head, her smile growing by the second. “Good girl,” she purred, as the whip came down.


End file.
